Greatest of Gifts
by Answer
Summary: A year after their first enchanted Christmas, Belle and her prince host a ball. Cogsworth gets himself into a frenzy of organisation while Lumiere just gets himself into trouble with Babette. And could there be a hint of new romance on the horizon? Fluff!
1. Chapter 1

_This fic has been posted before, in 2006 as The One Thing We're Looking For. I accidentally deleted it in the summer (because apparently most of my skull is filled with the wrong kind of grey stuff... although it _is_ delicious) so I thought I'd edit and repost it for the holiday season. Expect about ten chapters posted between now and Christmas. I think this is probably one of the best things I've ever written (after Dropping Eaves. Which is a bit sad because it means I kind of peaked in my mid-teens. Oh well) so I'm hoping that even those of you who've read it before will enjoy it again. It's a fun, fluffy holiday fic that takes place a year after (and occasionally refers to) The Enchanted Christmas, but you don't have to have seen that to read it. Reviews make great Christmas presents! :D_

_Inevitable plug: please check out my website (isabellatyler dot com), YouTube channel (IsabellaTyler) and follow me on Twitter (IsabellaTyler). You know, if you want. Whatever.  
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><p>Cogsworth dipped the nib of the pen into the ink one last time and smoothly completed the address on the envelope before leaning back to survey his handiwork. One perfectly-executed place card. He let his gaze rest on it for a moment before looking around the rest of his little office where, occupying anything that could be considered a horizontal surface, were neat stacks of near-identical envelopes. Three hundred and fifty perfectly-executed place cards. He allowed himself the luxury of a small smile as he massaged some feeling back into his fingers.<p>

It had been a long, arduous and, no doubt, thankless task, but finally every last name on the list had been accounted for. Though he would have walked barefoot over hot coals rather than admit it, Cogsworth rather enjoyed the sense of martyrdom that tasks like this afforded him. And anything was better than running about in the manner of cranially-challenged poultry in an attempt to control the raucous rabble that formed the Prince's household staff.

"Just high spirits!" Mrs Potts had told him cheerfully at breakfast that morning. This was all well and good, of course, and Cogsworth had no objection to happiness in principle, but high spirits did not wash dishes or make sure that the royal bed was made.

Cogsworth rested the pen on the desk. It was nice to have a moment's rest. Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a moment.

"Aha, what have we here? Taking a snooze on the job, Cogsworth?"

Cogsworth groaned as the all-too-familiar tones penetrated his consciousness. "No, Lumière, I was just…" He hesitated for a moment. "Resting my eyes."

Lumière flashed his most dazzling smile. "Of course you were, _mon ami_. But perhaps you could refrain from, ah, _resting your eyes_ until after you have spoken to the Master? He sent me to fetch you. Oh," he added, "and he wants those place cards. Immediately if not sooner."

"Some things never change."

Cogsworth pushed back his chair and stood up. Looked like his break was over. "They're ready now. I'm coming down."

His debonair colleague swept a low and patronising bow. "After you."

"Thank you," Cogsworth muttered, attempting to catch hold of Princess Marguerite's place card and almost dropping the nobility of all the kingdoms bordering them to the east.

"Let me give you a hand with those." Lumière held out his free hand. Cogsworth gave him a hard stare and then attempted to indicate, using only his nose, the other stacks. Lumière gathered an armful and, between them, and with a certain amount of patience and agility, they managed to get hold of the rest. They walked together along the corridor to the staircase. As they began to climb down, Lumière smirked at a sudden thought. "So, Cogsworth," he began, casually. "It is exciting, _non_, the prospect of the ballroom being filled once again with beautiful women?"

Cogsworth adjusted his grip, attempting to wedge his stack of place cards under his chin. "Certainly, Lumière. I_ relish _the prospect of mapping out an entire seating plan that will be thrown wholly out by last minute additions to the guest list, of checking off names and of running around in a frantic search for napkins while my entire staff loses its collective head over the presence of mistletoe that someone will manage to smuggle into the kitchen in defiance of my instructions."

Lumière smiled, knowingly. "You know, Cogsworth, I believe you do."

Cogsworth groaned. For an Englishman, sarcasm wasn't taught, it came with the ère, on the other hand, had a habit of saying what he meant – assuming he knew what that was in the first place. He decided to ignore his comment and continue. "Do you know, I almost miss the days when you could call a napkin and one would come running..."

"Cogsworth!" cried Lumière in feigned horror. "What a thing to say!"

"Well, you know what I mean. At least then if all the cutlery went missing you knew it had probably gone for a walk around the grounds or something. These days it usually turns out that someone's using it to prop up a Christmas tree or something."

A harassed-looking butler hurried past them at that moment, wreath in one hand, sprig of holly in the other. "Cutlery," he murmured. "Hadn't thought of that."

Lumière laughed, turning back to face Cogsworth. "I know you don't mean that."

"No, I suppose not." But, even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but feel a little wistful. It was wonderful that they were all free, of course it was – except that he couldn't help feeling that it had exposed them all to another way of being trapped. That was the realities of a royal household for you. They reached the foot of the stairs and strode along the corridor to the private royal suite.

Inside, the Prince was having a heated discussion with his lady wife as to the relative merits of two potential Yule logs. The argument seemed a bit one-sided, with the Prince saying things like "Well, this one's definitely a better shape. But then again, I like the feel of this one…" while Belle rested her head on his shoulder and gazed dreamily into the fire.

She sat up as Lumière and Cogsworth entered. "That one," she said, suddenly re-engaging with the conversation and pointing at the log in her husband's left hand. She smiled at him. "I have a good feeling about it."

The Prince nodded. "Then this one it is." He turned to face his head of household. "Ah, Cogsworth. You have the place cards?"

"Yes, Master." He stood to attention, taking his moment to shine. "Every one of them, checked and double-checked against Belle's – the princess's – list, sir."

"Excellent. Lumière, assemble the page boys and we'll get these set out at once."

"_Certainment._" Lumière bowed and made his exit.

"Now, Cogsworth – are the arrangements in place for the table settings?" The Prince was surprised to find that he actually cared about this. He wanted this event to be perfect.

"Yes, sir – cream china on a red cloth with gold-rimmed goblets. Festive, as discussed, without appearing vulgar."

In the background of the conversation, Belle blinked, slightly bewildered. Having a choice of different-coloured china to suit any occasion was just one of the many things she was having trouble getting to grips with. Cogsworth had offered to show her the room where they kept it all but she hadn't been sure her constitution could stand it.

"Excellent," the Prince was saying. "How about the decorations for the ballroom?"

"I have a team working on it as we speak."

"The garden?"

"A topiary expert has been called in." One had to get up very early in the morning to get the better of Cogsworth. "Oh, and sir – about the music for the ball, I've had a word with the musicians…"

The Prince made a pained expression. "Ah, yes, speaking of music – could you have it seen to that the organ is removed from the Great Hall? I'd forgotten about it until now, but with Christmas approaching..."

Belle shivered slightly at the memory, taking the Prince's hand to give reassurance. The events of last Christmas had been sinister to say the least, and not an experience she wanted repeating, however pleasant the eventual outcome had been. Forte's remains had long since been removed and destroyed but she knew that, before his transformation, Forte had often played the organ in the Great Hall. She had considered suggesting its removal herself but had decided against it, on the grounds that it might have some significance for her husband. She would not be sorry to see it go.

Cogsworth nodded solemnly. "I understand, sir. I'll have it taken care of immediately." A moment later, he too bowed and left the room.

The Prince turned back to his wife. "Alone again," he grinned, slipping an arm around her shoulders as they reclined back into the settee.

She snuggled into him. "Thank you," she said.

He looked down at her. "For what?"

"For all of this. For Christmas. It's important to me." She hesitated, her thoughts returning to the previous year – to snowball fights and talking crockery, to fear and understanding, to love. "I'm glad we can share it together." There was a pause. He moved his free hand across to her hair, smoothing it gently, enjoying her warmth.

"Sometimes," he said, eventually. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to find you."

Belle straightened up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Very lucky, given your idea of romance."

"Are you saying that my tactics didn't instantly fill you with a desire to melt into my furry arms?" he asked, innocently. "Well, that was remiss of me. Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"

"Oh, probably," said Belle, equally innocent. "Sometimes I can't believe you're the same Beast who imprisoned my father." Her husband shifted uncomfortably and she giggled. "I'm teasing you." She sighed, happily. "Anyway, I do believe you're the Beast who saved my life."

"You should," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "Because he's still here and he says you shouldn't have been in the West Wing."

Belle squealed, wriggling free of his grasp. "Well, you should learn to control your temper!"

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Potts coughed, smiling wanly and looking up at the ceiling. "When you're ready, dears, the cook wants a word with you in the kitchen. And there are about fifteen page boys out here who say Lumière sent them."


	2. Chapter 2

Between preparations and panic, the day before Christmas Eve seemed to come very quickly. The guests invited from neighbouring kingdoms had arrived the evening before the ball and would be staying the night in order to ensure that the event the next day would go exactly as planned, with no latecomers disrupting proceedings. Cogsworth had been pleased with this plan when it had occurred to him in the middle of October but it was dawning on him now that it hopelessly failed to account for the complications of directing fifty nobles and their maids and menservants to their rooms without causing any international political disasters because the Queen of Thea had let her lap dog loose along the same corridor as Princess Alicia's precious white kitten. People just didn't realise how much he had to deal with.

Lumière, meanwhile, was actually rather enjoying the proceedings. He had been given the job of greeting the guests as they arrived and, given the high ratio of young, attractive heiresses to ageing dowagers these days, he was really having quite a good time. If nothing else, it was a chance to see if he still had his old charm in him with Babette safely occupied in the dining room, straightening the forty forks and twenty-seven knives that Cogsworth had pronounced to be woefully out of alignment. He recognised one particular carriage even as it joined the back of the line of vehicles patiently queuing up to offload their passengers and have the horses stabled. Lumière was kissing the hand of a beautiful young duchess when he saw it. He would have known that carriage anywhere.

"Amandine," he murmured, absently.

"I beg your pardon?" said the duchess.

"Uh… a delight to have you with us, Mademoiselle. Please, enter and make yourself at home. Someone will have your things sent up to your room."

"Thank you," said the duchess, with a learned grace that had taken her years to perfect.

Lumière flashed her a smile and hurried off, watching as the carriage made its way towards them. After a moment, the driver reigned in the horses and the carriage drew to a halt. He opened the door with a flourish and swept a low bow. Inside, two young women looked out at him, one with the aloof and haughty air that servants quickly become accustomed to, the other with a mixture of shock and glowing excitement.

"_Bienvenue, mesdemoiselles_," he said, straightening up. As he did so, his eyes met those of the carriage's principal passenger. There was a flicker of recognition, but it was not to be allowed to develop.

"Ah. Footman," the Comtesse said, with a taut smile. "Do have my things carried up to my room, will you? And mind that special care is taken with the black case, it contains my dress for tomorrow night."

"Certainly." Lumière held out his hand, helping the Comtesse from her carriage. "It is my pleasure to be of assistance."

The Comtesse nodded graciously and walked elegantly to the doorway. Lumière turned his attention to the other occupant of the carriage – a young woman with long blonde hair that curled to her shoulders, just touching the plain neckline of her pale pink dress. She was the Comtesse's lady-in-waiting and as such was under strict unspoken orders not to outshine her mistress in any way. Nonetheless, hers was a beauty that could have radiated through the plainest of clothes. Lumière's smile for her, against his better judgement, was genuine.

"Amandine," he said, gently.

She inclined her head slightly, suddenly shy. "Lumière."

He helped her down from the carriage. "It has been a while, _non_?"

"Too long, Lumière. A lot has changed."

Lumière raised his eyebrows. He couldn't deny that. He kept smiling. "For the better?"

Amandine shrugged pale shoulders. "I cannot say. My mistress is fair if not kind and my position is all I could have hoped for, given my circumstances."

Lumière realised that he still held Amandine's hand and raised it slowly to his lips. "I am sorry things did not turn out as we hoped, _cherie_."

Amandine hesitated for a moment, her eyes shining. It was clear that the question she now asked was one she had long wanted an answer for. "Is it yet too late, Lumière? Your position is different, is it not? Can we not put the past behind us and do all the things we dreamed of?"

Lumière lowered her hand slowly. "_Cherie_, I'm sorry. You were right – much has changed."

She lowered her eyes. "What's her name?"

"Babette," Lumière replied, gently. "Amandine, I'm so sorry, I…"

"It's nothing." Amandine pulled her hand gently free of his grasp. "My mistress awaits."

Lumière released her but held eye contact. "Meet me in the garden once dinner has been served. We have a lot to talk to talk about, _non_?"

Amandine turned away but paused before she had gone far. "Lumière," she called back.

"_Oui?_"

"My sister, Nicolette, will be here with the Comtesse Wasquehal. She is her ladies' maid. Tell her where I will be staying so that she can come and find me."

Lumière nodded, turning away as Amandine disappeared into the seething, decorated throng. He was just in time to see a final carriage wend its way onto the bridge that led across to the front entrance. He didn't recognise it but he didn't need to. A vehicle like that could have only one owner: King Célestin of Armelle, the richest, rudest royal for leagues in any direction – and also, it seemed, the owner of the most expensive and hideous coach Lumière had ever seen. And he wouldn't be travelling alone. He froze. Hadn't anyone thought of this? Hadn't _Cogsworth_ thought of this? As the carriage drew up, he slipped into the shadows, watching as one of the footmen opened the door and greeted the occupants of the carriage. A sparkling red shoe appeared, followed by a frothy cascade of skirt. A moment later, Princess Charlotte of Armelle stood by her carriage. Like all the young women whose arrivals Lumière had witnessed that night, Charlotte was beautiful, rich and titled. Unlike the others, she surveyed the castle with a proprietry wistfulness that turned into a deepening scowl. She had been here before.

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><p>In the entrance hall, Cogsworth had not merely reached the end of his tether but had broken free and run, dazed and staggering, to embrace a world beyond reason and sanity. His eyes bulged and he appeared to be turning a rather exotic shade of purple.<p>

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, his voice a good octave higher than usual. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just have your attention for a moment…"

The crowd, all of whom had long been accustomed to taking orders from no one, continued to exchange anecdotes pertaining to various dinners and dances, who had debuted the previous season, who was engaged to whom and what fashionable young ladies were wearing in Paris these days. Cogsworth clutched his list tightly and tried to breathe deeply. He had just opened his mouth to try again when someone behind him laughed. He turned around to dish out the first sanction that came to mind and found the princess's hand on his shoulder.

"Shall I have a try for you?" she asked.

"Well, uh, Your Highness, I can assure you that everything is under control, but…" He trailed off. Belle raised an eyebrow in subtle fashion she had learned since becoming a princess. "Yes, please," he finished, meekly.

Belle raised her voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!"

At first, it didn't seem to have any effect. A couple of people looked around to see who had spoken, but then appeared to returned to their conversations. Gradually, however, the crowd fell silent, except for an undercurrent of whispering. Was this the new princess?

Cogsworth's jaw dropped slightly. Belle winked at him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as I'm sure you all know, this is the first occasion in some time that guests have been welcomed for festivities here. While I realise that some of you have had long journeys to join us and probably long for a rest and a good meal, we would greatly appreciate it if you could remain patient for a few moments while the esteemed head of our household directs you to your rooms."

Cogsworth recovered just in time. "Uh, right. Prince Léonard and Princess Nadine, if you wouldn't mind following Lionel here, your room is in the East Wing, on the top floor. Lord and Lady Wingham, if you would be so good as to…"

Reluctant but cowed, the nobles allowed themselves to be herded. Belle turned away, climbing back up the stairs, vaguely aware of the sound of Cogsworth's voice becoming more distant. She still hadn't really got used to authority – but then, the Prince had enough for both of them. She sighed and hurried down the corridor to the suite she share with her husband. If she hadn't known better, she would have wondered if he had somehow managed to get lost between his wardrobe and the dining hall.

She found him sitting at the foot of their bed, fully-dressed and, one would assume, ready to greet his guests. On closer examination, however, he appeared to be taking an intense interest in the carpet. He looked up as she came in.

"Have they all arrived?" he asked.

Belle sat down beside him. "Yes. The guests have arrived, the table has been set, international incidents have been avoided, Cogsworth has nearly driven himself to an early grave and Lumière was last seen being dragged firmly into the servants' quarters by Babette. It seems to me that all we're missing is a prince."

"Ah," he said, looking back down. "Good."

Belle glanced across the room. There was a mirror opposite the bed and in it she could make out their two shapes, close and comfortable. Their outfits had been selected with a pride bordering on obsession by Jeanette, and complimented one another perfectly. Jeanette de la Grande Bouche took great pride in her work. Belle was dressed in a pale green gown trimmed a darker shade, with an emerald pendant around her neck. Her Prince was dressed in dark green with a lighter trim and what seemed to Belle to be a slightly emerald complexion.

"You may as well tell me what it is now," she said, smiling gently at his reflection. "I have a feeling one of the maids will be here any moment with a message from Cogsworth, so we probably haven't got a lot of time."

The Prince turned to look at his beautiful wife, grateful to have her so close. "It's… this ball."

"I didn't think it was the carpet."

He gave her a sideways glance before continuing. "It's the first time in so long that I've been to one of these things, been around so many people. I – I don't know if I can do it."

Belle frowned. "But our wedding – I've never seen so many people. You were fine then."

He sighed. "That was different."

"How?"

"I had you beside me all through the day. They came to look at my beautiful bride, not to pay attention to me."

Belle smiled gently, taking his hands in her own. "I got through our wedding exactly the same way. And we'll get through this too." She stood up, speaking firmly. "Come on." The Prince paused, considering it. Belle smiled to herself. He had a way of pouting slightly when things weren't going the way he wanted. He was definitely the Beast she had fallen in love with. She took a step towards the door, continuing playfully. "You'll regret it if you don't."

"Why?"

Belle's eyes glittered. "Because on Christmas morning you'll be woken bright and early with the biggest snowball in your face that you have ever seen. And don't forget you haven't got a fur coat any more."

The Prince stood up. He smiled at her for a moment, then asked: "Can you imagine what would happen if I went in there like… _that_?"

Belle bit her lip. "Yes, I can. But they don't know you like I do."

"Thank you."

"If they did, they'd barely notice the difference."

The Prince rolled his eyes, holding out his arm for Belle to take. "It's good to have the support of a loving wife at one's side," he muttered. As they rounded the last corner of the corridor leading to the grand staircase, Belle kissed her Prince on the cheek, simultaneously straightening his jacket. "How do I look?"

"Since you ask," she said. "Like a handsome prince."

"What was that word you used the other day at breakfast?"

"_Croissant_?"

"No … cliché. I think that was one of those."

"Exactly," said Belle. "A rich, buttery cliché."

They climbed down the stairs, waving genially at the guests who were looking happier now that they had seen their luggage attended to and could begin to relish the prospect of dinner. They were just reaching the ground when the Prince saw her, standing in the corner of the room, holding a fan and flirting outrageously with a married Duke. He groaned inwardly. This was all he needed. _Charlotte._


	3. Chapter 3

Babette was not happy. In fact, 'not happy' did not really do the way she was feeling justice.

"Lumière!" she hissed, staring furiously through the almost total darkness. "You have the length of time it takes for Cogsworth to wonder where we are in which to explain yourself, and you had better make it good."

"_Ma chére,_ I do not understand. What is it that you want me to explain?"

"Lumière, I do not want to play games with you. Either you tell me right now who that girl was or…"

"What girl?"

"Innocence does not suit you, Lumière. You should have heard Francine in the dining room." She put on a falsetto voice, batting her eyelashes. "'Ooh, Babette, your power is not what it used to be, is it? Never mind, dear, maybe you can find a filthy stablehand and make your little flame jealous!' Ugh. In front of all the kitchen staff, too! You have put me through this too many times, Lumière, I am not willing to…"

Lumière placed a finger gently over her lips. "Babette, _mon amour_, I swear on all that I hold dear to me that there is no one I could ever love as much as I love you."

Babette pushed his hand away and continued, only slightly pacified by his response. "Who is she? The girl Francine saw you with, who is she?"

Lumière sighed. "It was Amandine."

"Amandine?" The name echoed in her mind. She knew it from somewhere… Yes. "The girl you met fifteen years ago? The girl you nearly married?"

"Yes. That Amandine. Babette, I…" He stopped, unsure what to say next. Babette had heard it all many times before and he had little hope that any of his well-worn excuses would wash any better now than they had done previously. Was there any way he could tell her that she was the only woman for him that wouldn't sound insincere? Did he even deserve her trust?

In the moment of silence that followed, Babette heard footsteps in the corridor outside. "Lumière, we have not the time to talk about this now, but your last chance will come soon. Remember that."

Lumière nodded slowly and a moment later she was gone.

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><p>In the Dining Hall, Cogsworth's mood had improved significantly. Dinner was going precisely according to plan, his seating arrangements seemed to be working out perfectly and, to cap it all, the prince had taken him to one side as dessert made its appearance and complimented him on a perfectly organised meal – certainly something he would never have expected to hear in those early days, before… Well, perhaps best not even to consider that now. If only tomorrow night's ball went as smoothly, Cogsworth would count this one as a very merry Christmas.<p>

He looked contentedly around the room, carefully examining the expressions of the nobles to ensure that they were enjoying themselves. Dukes, duchesses, counts, countesses, princes and princesses all seemed to be getting along just swimmingly. At the head of the table the prince and princess were engaged in conversation with a visiting king and queen, occasionally sipping from their wine glasses. A little further down, a heated but friendly discussion was taking place over the relative merits of two plays that had been performed earlier in the year. In fact, even the leaders of kingdoms who had only recently been at loggerheads over some policy or other were putting their differences aside and drunkenly proposing toasts to one another.

As the last of the _gateaux_ disappeared, the prince caught Cogsworth's eye, motioning with his hand. Cogsworth nodded. "_Mesdames et messieurs_," he called. "If you would care to adjourn to the drawing room for coffee…" The ladies gathered their skirts as the gentlemen made to help them up. Cogsworth turned smartly on his heel, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the serving maids and butlers as he left the room. "And I," he continued under his breath as he descended the steps leading to the pantry, kitchen and boiler room. "Will be in the kitchen having a well-deserved brandy."

The kitchen was not, perhaps, the bastion of peace he would have chosen but he had to acknowledge that the atmosphere was really quite pleasant. The room was full to bursting with off-duty maids, footmen, butlers, cook's boys and stablehands, all making merry as quietly as they could, so as not to be reprimanded. Even some of the visiting staff – those responsible for the grooming and dressing of visiting dignitaries – had joined their drivers to sigh over the excesses of royalty and help the residents to demolish the leftover food and drink. Cogsworth noted the hush as he entered the room, and more specifically the maids hastily slipping off the knees of the seated men, but made no move to discipline any of his underlings for anything they may or may not have been doing before he had been observed. Instead, he poured himself a drink from a glass container in a cupboard to the right of the door and motioned for a spit turner to vacate an armchair that had been placed by the fire. He sat down, making himself comfortable.

"Carry on," he said, waving imperiously.

Behind him, glances were exchanged, shoulders shrugged – and the merriment resumed as before. One of the gardeners had brought an accordion in with him and thus began an impromptu song and dance around the central table. Cogsworth watched all of this out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his drink. Some of the staff he recognised, others, the visitors, he did not. Most of them were unremarkable – no doubt as much of a headache for his counterpart in their various places of employment as his own staff were to him. One of the visitors in particular captured his attention. She was pretty woman, probably a ladies' maid, since she did not look as though she were used to hard labour. Her hair was dark and tightly curled, falling gently to her shoulders. She was easily the match in beauty of any of the fine ladies upstairs. She was standing in the corner of the kitchen in conversation with two other women, and he found himself observing her carefully without even thinking about it. He was just idly wondering who her employer was when one of her _copains_ happened to glance round and see him looking at her. Cogsworth looked away, hastily. He did not hear their conversation.

"Nicolette!" squealed Félicie. "He was _definitely_ looking at you!"

"Who?" her friend asked, bewildered.

"Cogsworth!" hissed Tatienne, the only one of the three native to the castle. "He's the head of the household."

Félicie got straight to the heart of the matter. "Married?"

Tatienne shook her head. "As far as anyone knows, he left any women he might have had in England."

"English?" asked Félicie, wrinkling her nose. "Forget I mentioned it."

Nicolette rolled her eyes. "Oh, Félicie. What's wrong with the English?"

"_Oui_," Tatienne interjected. "English or not, the attentions of the prince's head of household are not to be sniffed at, eh, Nicolette?"

"No," Nicolette sighed. "I only meant that…"

"Oh, Nicolette, we know what you _meant_. But he _was_ looking at you."

"And that means what?" Nicolette straightened her skirt, absently. "He might merely have wondered who the slovenly brunette with the beautiful friends was."

Félicie tutted. "_Dieu_, Nicolette, what are we to do with you? And where is your sister when we need her to convince you?"

"Ah," said Nicolette, gesturing for them to come closer. "Now that I can answer. Do you remember that Amandine was once engaged?"

"Yes?" Félicie and Tatienne nodded in eager unison. They were not a pair to miss an opportunity for fresh gossip.

"Well, he's here. The man she was to marry."

"You mean, with a guest?"

"_Non_! He works here."

"What's his name?" Tatienne eagerly ran through a list of all the male members of staff.

Nicolette shrugged. "I don't know, I only met him once and I don't recall his name. He was tall, handsome – quite a ladies' man."

Tatienne snapped her fingers. "_C'est Lumière_." Her face fell. "Oh, poor Amandine."

"Why poor Amandine?"

Tatienne shook her head. "Never mind. Come, I'll introduce you to Cogsworth."

Nicolette barely had time to protest before her arms were seized and she was frogmarched across the room by her friends. Beside the fireplace, Tatienne executed a neat little curtsey.

"Monsieur Cogsworth, I'd like to present to you my dear friend Nicolette Toussaint. She is a ladies' maid accompanying the Comtesse Wasquehal."

The expression on Cogsworth's face caused Nicolette to flush, mortified. It was clear that he had had no such interest in her and that Tatienne had overstepped a mark to parade her before him.

"Monsieur," she said, as bravely as she could.

Cogsworth froze, his stomach knotted with embarrassment. "Mademoiselle," he said. He had never had any luck with women.

Félicie dug Nicolette in the ribs but she did not respond. Félicie sighed. "Sir, we were wondering if Nicolette could join you by the fire. She's just been complaining of being cold."

"I –" began Nicolette, but she might as well have saved her breath.

"Certainly," said Cogsworth. "Be my guest."

Nicolette found herself all but forced into a seat. "Er – thank you."

"We'll be over there, Nicolette, dear," said Félicie. "Take your time, uh, warming up."

Nicolette glowered after them, feeling her cheeks burn. She turned to Cogsworth and smiled politely. Cogsworth smiled back and searched his mind for possible conversation topics.

"Are you … enjoying your stay?" he managed, lamely.

"Y-yes," Nicolette replied, nervously. "It's so beautiful here, and so nice to see Félicie and Tatienne again." _Sort of_, she added, silently.

"Good," said Cogsworth, taking another sip of his drink and desperately wondering how Lumière would react in the situation. She was certainly a very attractive young woman, but he had no idea how to proceed with the conversation. He supposed that he ought to find out more about her, but how to ask her about herself without appearing impolitely inquisitive? A conundrum indeed, and not helped by the way she kept glancing anxiously between him and her friends on the other side of the room. Eventually, he succeeded in making a mistake he would regret for the rest of the evening. He drained his glass, standing up. "Well, charming to have met you, Mademoiselle Toussaint. I have … business to attend to. Elsewhere. Uh, upstairs. So, um …" He hesitated. "Enjoy the remainder of your stay."

Nicolette gave a weak smile. "Thank you, Monsieur, I hope I shall."

The moment Cogsworth had left the room, she turned and hurried out through the door into the kitchen gardens. The night air was cold against her cheeks and the wind teased her, pulling her hair and twitching her skirts. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She had never been so humiliated in all her life.

She was just pulling herself together in preparation for the inevitable moment when she would have to go back inside when she heard it. The sound of a woman crying, just a little distance away. Nicolette glanced once behind her, then made across the garden in the direction of the sound. "Hello?" she called out, gently. "Who's there? What's the matter?"

"Nicolette?"

She recognised the voice even before she noticed the hunched figure sitting on the stone wall, dabbing ineffectively at her eyes. "Amandine? What is it?"

"Oh, Nicolette!" Amandine stood, embracing her sister. "How grateful I am to have you here with me!"

"What's the matter?" Nicolette asked, concerned. She had seen her sister cry very few times, and the last time it had been over the one man she had ever loved, when her mistress had refused to allow a marriage to take place. She had had to choose between a good position with the Countess or a life of poverty with the then penniless Lumière. Amandine was the only woman Nicolette had known to be practical in the face of love.

"It's him," Amandine sobbed. "I just spoke to him – oh, and he was so short with me, so brief. I don't think he's ever forgiven me – and that's not the worst of it!" She broke down again, becoming almost hysterical. Nicolette waited patiently for the wave to subside.

"What is it, then?"

"Babette!" Amandine wailed. "He's found another woman! He really loves her, too, perhaps more than he ever loved me. Oh, Nicolette, you should hear the way he speaks of her!"

Nicolette put her arm around her sister's shoulders and led her gently back towards the castle.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah, remember when I said there'd be about ten chapters? I was making that up. Now that I think about it, there were only nine in the original version and I've both removed a (bizarre and nonsensical) subplot and split it into much larger chunks. We're probably looking at more like five. I hope you're enjoying it!<em>

_Also, sometimes I write things that aren't fanfiction. I would be incredibly grateful if you checked out the video I made a few days ago in which I read out a snippet from a YA book I'm working on. We're talking internet hugs here, people. Youtube dot com slash isabellatyler  
><em>


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